oldnumberseven

Today I am drinking Captain Morgan’s and lime Coke. I know, it is a marketing ploy. Alas, I was too damned lazy to cut up limes to put in my rum drink, and so, thought, ‘hell, those bastions of Americana coca-cola bottling company has done this for me, and let’s give it a whirl.’ Like all tastes manufactured, though it does not live up to the original. This is why I pay my local bartender. I go in, order a Captain and Coke, and by Christ if he does not cut up a lime for me. What a swell guy. This is perhaps, how catholics feel about their priests. It is a damned shame that my bartender does not commence services at seven in the morning when I am ready for them, but instead I must wait until the happy hour of four in the afternoon. Back in Ohio where I also worked eleven p.m. to seven a.m. I was lucky enough to have a little bar about three blocks away from where I lived called Leroy’s, which catered to the third shift factory workers around that part of town, and by christ, if you couldn’t go and have a few drinks, and breakfast. It was a swell place full of formica tables, plastic ashtrays, and myself, and a line of factory workers standing at the bar, smoking, drinking, and singing the ‘International.’ Hah, I just made that part up. I am sure I would have gone through the window if I sang the ‘International’ there, not that I can sing, or would do so in public, or that they could have understood french. Who knows though, perhaps there was a shy communist francophone amongst them just waiting for someone to strike up a few bars of that anthem, and maybe with a beautiful voice as well.